the warrior and the many-tentacled thing, ii
- the warrior and the many-tentacled thing
- the warrior and the many-tentacled thing, ii
- oasis living is free
“I am Shethged,” the warrior replies. “This is Vantoo. Now get out of the way. We are destined to fight this battle to a bloody end.”
“Really.” I turn to Ishmael, who has walked over to a safe distance. “They can lie to me?”
“You lie to yourself all the time. Incoming.” I hear the swish of the blade and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. This is going to hurt.
Except that I am surrounded by glowing pink energy, shimmery and translucent. I turn to see the warrior’s blade stuck in the pink energy. She is tugging at it, but the sword is stuck fast. I hear chuckling coming from the many-tentacled thing.
“Darzee?” I ask.
“Here,” she replies. She steps up next to me, her form diaphanous and indistinct. “That was close.”
“It would have hurt, but they can’t really damage me,” I say. “But thank you for the caring thought.”
Darzee looks over at Ishmael uncertainly. He doesn’t move, just stares back at her. Darzee looks away from both of us.
Huh. I grab Darzee’s hand to make sure she doesn’t rabbit on me, because clearly I’m going to need her. Then I turn to the many-tentacled thing. “Your turn. Who are you?”
Then I stagger, as “Shethged” has launched herself against Darzee’s shield hard enough to move me and it. “I must fight,” she pants, and reigns down more blows upon me.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. This is *my* head. I blow away Darzee’s barrier with a burst of energy that I redirect at the warrior. “Sleep,” I say, and she staggers as if I’ve hit her. I can feel my own energies shift as whatever she is crumples, unconscious. I’m starting to get a light headache. My palms tingle with unleashed power. Whatever she is, she has been using up a huge amount of my personal energy to maintain this fight. I feel a little light-headed.
“Okay,” I say, transferring my grip from Darzee’s hand to her shoulder. She lets me lean on her silently, and I squeeze her shoulder a bit in gratitude. We turn back to the many-tentacled thing. “I have a wood chipper and I’m not afraid to use it. Who are you?”
“Please,” it says. “Free me.”
I can feel my energy still shifting, and my forehead is tingling. “You have a story,” I say. “Tell me.”
The Story of the Many-Tentacled Thing
I don’t remember what I used to be. All I know is that I have not always been a many-tentacled thing, and I didn’t live here. I lived somewhere with meadows. There were flowers and butterflies. I love butterflies.
But one day something picked me up and shook me. And they kept shaking me until I thought all my bones were going to break. I couldn’t even tell what was shaking me. It looked like a concrete arm. It wanted something from me but I didn’t have anything to give it. Then it threw me into an oubliette for I-don’t-know how long. I missed the sunlight and the butterflies. I missed them so much it felt like I hadn’t eaten for weeks. I don’t eat but I was starving. It was awful.
Then the oubliette faded away. And as it faded I became this many-tentacled thing. And when the walls were gone I was a monster and that woman rushed at me, and we’ve been fighting ever since. Every once in a while she takes a break, so I can take a break too. But the rest of the time we fight.
“I see,” I say, although I really don’t see. “If you don’t like this life, why keep fighting? Why not just let this warrior woman win?”
The many-tentacled thing shivered. “Oh no,” it says. “That would be much, much worse.”
